Wandering Souls
by DancingChestnut
Summary: '"Little ones! Periannath!" She called out to them quietly, but their heads turned, and their eyes widened at the sight of her, her head crowned with drenched starlight.' Whispers of a Wizard's betrayal has reached her ears, and she ventures into the land of Rohan... Encountering extraordinary characters on her journey.
1. Starlight Discoveries

**So guys, I kinda decided to rewrite the Love of the Eldar. As you can see, I really changed the style of the writing so I would really, really appreciate feedback. This rewrite depends on the response given, so please support me!**

* * *

**WANDERING SOULS**

The sun rose in the East, stars twinkled one last time and faded into the spreading orange glow. Men arose; the little village on the outskirts of Rohan came to life slowly. People washed themselves; mothers prepared food and drink for their families. Birds chirped softly; the sky looked clear and showed no sign of rain. It was a good day, or at least on the outside.

A tall, lithe figure walked along the worn paths of the village. She had a strange countenance, her eyes were bright and her features slanted; she walked with little sound and moved quickly. Dressed in an odd style of clothing of which the villagers had never seen the likes of before, they stared at her with much suspicion. She carried a set of bow and arrows and a sword, as well as a bag which she slung over one shoulder.

She was, in fact, an Elf of Imladris, or Rivendell as it was called in the Common Tongue. Rivendell was an enchanting place of many waterfalls, of pure and clear water sprinkling down the hills on which beautiful elven houses were situated. Graceful arches of precious metal were used to build these houses, and they stood tall and magnificent on the land of the Last Homely House.

This Elf, however, was a wanderer of Middle-earth, who had long left the haven of Rivendell. She roamed the lands, seeking discoveries, absorbing new sights, and gracing the lands with the light of the Eldar. She had went far into the West, even into the outskirts of the Shire, and a little North where she had met some Dunedain, Rangers of the North, but this was her first time so far South, where Men ruled. Whispers of a Wizard's betrayal had reached her ears, and ever curious, she had ventured into a place of corrupt danger.

These were dark times, and spies, servants of the dark, were rampant throughout these lands. Distrust caught like wildfire; anyone could be lurking, waiting for one wrong word. Only myths and legends, most of which were not good, were heard of such folk as her in Rohan at that time. The shadow of Mordor crept up on the people of Middle-earth with stealth, and who knew who to place faith in? Strangers were not to be reckoned with.

She turned into an inn, and the people breathed again. There was something about her that they did not quite trust, and they were glad to have her out of sight.

* * *

"A cup of hot drink, if you please, milady." Calen – for that was indeed the Elf's name – called out to a barmaiden as she seated herself at a table. She placed the bag beside her and kept her weapons close as she surveyed her surroundings. It was a rather well-known inn in that area that she had stopped at, and it was busy even in the early light of morning. Men laughed and drank to one another's health, some stumbling around in a fit of drunkenness, but none approached her.

The drink was served by a rather thin, sour-looking maid, whose face brightened up as the Elf tipped her generously. She made to hasten away with the gold, but Calen stopped her with a hand on the maid's arm.

"If I may ask, milady, have you heard of any untoward events happening in this region?"

The maid noticeably blanched at the contact between her and the Elf, and with a small smile, Calen dropped her hand. The maid turned to look at Calen and immediately had intensely dark blue eyes fixed on her.

"No, milady, I – I heard of some things near Snowbourne – I think there were some fires or the like. Orcs have been roaming our lands, milady, and they have been destroying our homes." The maid stammered, unnerved by the Elf's unwavering gaze.

"Orcs…" Calen's face darkened. "Where is the region that has most recently been attacked?" As she spoke, she stood up, and in one fluid motion had her weapons and bag in her hands.

"I'd wager it was somewhere West, milady. I don't know – is that all? I have to be getting back to work." The maid looked like a little mouse, with her quivering chin and darting eyes.

"Yes. I would not wish to keep you from your work," The Elf agreed amiably. She stepped out of the inn, looked around once, and was off.

* * *

When Calen had just come of age, her parents sailed to the Valinor, home of the Valar. It was a bitter parting – Calen, being of a tender age and still new to the world, did not understand why her parents had grown weary of Middle-earth and had to leave her. But the call of the Sea was undeniable, and her parents entrusted her to the care of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.

Lord Elrond was wise and kind, and for a few decades he took Calen under his care - back then, being a willful and obstinate young Elf, she had chosen to dwell in a house separate from the royal halls of Lord Elrond's stead. He allowed Calen to partake in weapon training as well as the obligatory healing course for females; and when she was deemed experienced enough, placed her in the Guard for Rivendell, troops whose purpose was to defend the Elven haven.

But soon Calen grew restless. Often, she would leave Rivendell for days and scout around, armed with her weapons. She always returned with her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with the exhilaration of freedom and adventure, speaking of vast rolling hills and quaint houses of straw. She longed to see more of the vast expanse of the world. She did not wish for so much of her kin's song, feast and merriment, though she did love celebrating with the other Elves festivals of moonlight and starlight.

The others laughed at her when she expressed her desire to leave. "Why," they cried, "Other people are so dull! Stay here with us in contentment; we have no need of other company!" For indeed, Rivendell was one of the fairest places in Middle-earth.

But then Lady Celebrian, wife to Lord Elrond and daughter of the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, was rushed back one frantic night bleeding from her wounds. Alas, she had been set upon by Orcs, and was now mortally wounded.

Lord Elrond did the best he could. He went to the stores of herbs and Elvish medicine that Rivendell held and mixed concoctions to help Lady Celebrian; many Elves in Rivendell visited the prayer halls to wish upon their Lady good blessing and a smooth recovery, for beloved she was to them. And after many weeks of waiting, Lady Celebrian stepped out of the healing wards, healthy again.

However, misfortune had struck yet again: Lady Celebrian might have been healed in body by the tender loving hands of her husband, but she was tortured in mind. No one could find a solution - not the most renowned healers in Middle-earth, not Lord Elrond himself - and finally, Lady Celebrian sailed to the Undying Lands.

Calen was distraught: Lady Celebrian had been the closest to a mother that she ever had, and as the whole of Rivendell grieved for Lady Celebrian's untimely departure, the light the valley held dimmed, and the Elves were subdued for a long time.

That was when Calen decided to gather her belongings and leave. She sought the reluctant permission of Lord Elrond, who had her promise not to be reckless and to stay on known paths; bid her friends farewell, and left on her journey around Middle-earth.

* * *

The Elf Calen hastened along the battered roads of Rohan, and soon she had left the village and was making her way through tall grasses swaying gently in the wind. The sun moved across the sky; she sung quietly in melodious tones as she walked. Dry leaves whispered and crackled under her step; the mountains sloped up in the distance and melted into plains.

It was evening when she reached a large, barren plain where a mass of lush, tangled forest lay, just hovering on the edge of her eyesight.

"Fangorn," she breathed.

Even from such a large distance, she could feel the forest vibrating with life - and danger. Much as she loved nature and all the beauty it held, she did not hold as much love for trees and forests as much as her woodland kin did, and she resolved to rest for the night far from the dark forest. She found a dry place tucked under a cleft of rock, blessedly warm - the night air was bitingly cool and the rock still held heat from the day. Wrapping a cloak around herself, she lay down and promptly fell into dreamless slumber.

* * *

It was well into night, the moon glowing with a pure white light and the stars floating brightly in the dark sky, when Calen startled awake. She blinked up at the sky for a moment, listening to the sounds around her. All was quiet, save for a few crickets chirping and the occasional stir of wind. Shadows flitted across her skin as she lay there, breathing softly and staring upwards.

But at that moment Calen had a prick of unexplainable anxiety, and she rose and packed up swiftly, unsettled. The horizon looked clear, but as Calen turned her gaze towards it, Fangorn seemed to stir uneasily, like a great bird whose feathers had been ruffled. So it was with a wary heart that Calen moved across the plain toward the forest quickly, covering distance with ease.

She stopped a short distance away from it, and thought she could hear some sounds from within the forest in a westerly direction - these sounds seemed to her of raised voices, and the familiar guttural quality they possessed made a chill of trepidation clench her spine. Clutching her weapons tightly, she ran toward the sounds.

The forest on her side seemed to flow and ebb with breath: it continually stirred and emitted faint sounds, which alarmed her further. Sprawling roots laid traps for the careless traveller, and Calen managed to avoid these if only due to her natural sense of balance. Stars above her head thickened into a canopy of light, shining brighter as if to help guide the Elf.

It was under this light that Calen discovered a pack of Orcs, as she had feared, under the outermost trees of Fangorn Forest. They were pushing and shoving one another, and Calen's ears hurt to hear their rough shouts and screams.

"We haven't had anything to eat but maggoty bread for three stinking days!" The Orcs yelled in their coarse language.

"We need some fresh meat!"

"Filth," Calen said softly. She peered around the drooping branch of a tree, trying to guess the size of the army. A desire to run out there and fight them all rose in her, but she swallowed it down, knowing it unwise when she was vastly outnumbered. She guessed their numbers to be around thirty, and she pondered over this for a moment, wondering why so many Orcs were here in Fangorn.

It had to be Saruman's Orcs. She smiled grimly - she had heard news of his betrayal, even away as she was in the West - and she had sought to find the Grey Wizard Mithrandir, but he was nowhere to be found. The Brown lived too far away, on the Southern edge of Mirkwood, and it was a long and treacherous path to take.

Time flowed differently for Elves, and as she stood there, thinking, a fight had broken out among the Orcs. They seemed to be arguing over someone:

"They are not for eating! Saruman said to bring them alive... And unspoiled." An Orc snarled. Calen then knew she had deduced correctly: these Orcs were under Saruman's rule... But of whom were they speaking of? Captives of the Orcs?

"What about their legs? They don't need them."

The Orcs stared quarrelling yet again, and Calen weighed her options. She could either fight the Orcs, or try to spot the captives and free them. She thought it wiser to carry out the latter, as her lithe body, though with hidden strength, was not hardened or strong enough to battle thirty Orcs. She moved stealthily into a semi-dark spot, where moonlight shot down through the treetops in a fading line, and looked around. Quickly her keen eyes saw two little figures fleeing the unaware Orcs, their hands bound and frayed ropes wrapped around their ankles loosely.

"Little ones! Periannath!" She called out to them quietly, but their heads turned, and their eyes widened at the sight of her, her head crowned with drenched starlight.

"Pippin, it's an Elf!" The taller of the two cried out joyfully, and Calen hushed them, glancing warily at the Orcs. She cut their bonds swiftly, took hold of their arms and made to run out onto the plain Fangorn faced, but the Orcs had realised the extent of their folly in arguing among themselves, and upon looking around, spotted her.

"A She-Elf!" They cried in anger. They begun to lumber towards her, and Calen turned and dashed into the waiting Fangorn.


	2. Fangorn

**Thank you all so, so much for all your support! I loved every single review and appreciated every single follow and favorite. **

**I can't promise a regular, fast update, but the third chapter should be coming in around a week or so, since I've already written some of it. I hope you enjoy this chapter, much as it is filler. I promise our favorite Three Hunters next chapter! :)**

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"Hurry!" Calen called to the hobbits as she darted through the thick undergrowth of brambles and laced branches. She headed deeper and deeper into the shadowy depths of the forest, pausing occasionally to look back at the two small ones. It was only when the younger of the hobbits stumbled over a root and collapsed to the ground then she halted, tilting her head to listen for sounds of pursuit.

"It would seem that we are safe for now, periannath," she said as she helped the hobbit up. "I hear the sound of battle, and it would seem that the Orcs have been subdued by some other army, on horses. Likely this is the Rohirrim, horse-masters of this land. They would not dare venture into Fangorn, and they are no enemy. Yet I would urge you to be on guard. Fangorn is not a place of peace." She looked up at the great, towering trees and a shadow seemed to descend upon her.

"Can I have your name, fair Elf?" Pippin blurted, his eyes wide.

She turned and smiled. "I am Calen, or 'green one' in Elvish. The elves hold great love for nature and the greenery it comprises, and I was named after the great green world. What about you, periannath? What are your names?"

"He's Peregrin Took, or Pippin," the taller hobbit stepped in, "and I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, or Merry. Nice to meet you, Lady Calen." They bowed deeply and gave her wide grins. She shook her head and smiled again.

"Sleep, young ones, you have had a long day. A shadow of fear still lingers on you, and perhaps when you rise, refreshed from sleep, you can tell me about how you came to be captured by the Orcs of Isengard. The night is dark but the stars bright; there is no sign of pursuit. Rest, and I will keep guard," she said.

"Will you not be weary?" Pippin asked before yawning widely.

"Elves need not as much rest as common folk do," she assured him. Turning her back on them, she stared out into the forest, eyes sharp and bow at the ready. The hobbits fell asleep, pillowed on the grass of the forest and comforted by the presence of the Elf.

* * *

Calen sat, having found a rough and sizable stone some feet away, and ran the edge of her sword across the makeshift whetstone. Having sharpened it to perfection, she carefully set it aside and began sharpening a small hunting knife. Humming softly under her breath, she inspected the surface of the weapon in the fading moonlight.

A sound behind her made her jump to her feet and spin around, bow raised. Yet nothing was amiss save for the gentle lull of the hobbits' chests rising and falling and the occasional snore or snort that escaped their lips as they slept. But as she stood there, breath shallow and ears peaked, the trees seemed to move and the shadows shifted ominously.

A sense of foreboding stole over her and she ran over to the sleeping figures of the hobbits, crouching down and shaking them gently. "Wake, young hobbits!" There was a loud creaking from overhead, and as the hobbits, alarmed by the urgency laced in the Elf's voice, quickly rose, the tree they had been resting next to distinctly moved.

The hobbits froze, paralyzed with fear, as the tree gave another loud creak. With a huge shudder, it raised its roots from the ground - what they had previously thought were long roots were in fact legs - and took a step toward the three of them. It towered over them, not surprising since it was about 14 feet tall, and had incredibly thick skin. Calen thought that perhaps she'd need ten arrows to even pierce through it.

"Stay back," Calen said to the hobbits. This they gratefully did, rushing round the Elf to seek shelter in her shadow - if they could not see the tree-thing, then it could not see them too; this was a childhood belief borne of monsters under the bed and demons in the closet.

"What is that… that tree-thing?" asked Pippin, trembling in fear.

"An Elf!" The tree-thing, as the hobbits called it, boomed suddenly. Its voice was loud but deep, and it spoke slowly, as if time flowed past it in a river of sludge. "I have not seen an Elf in my forests for a very long time now. It was they who first taught my comrades and I language, and in the olden times, they talked with us and brightened up the forest with their light. Pray tell, why is there an Elf here?"

Calen straightened, eyes bright with relief. "An Onod! I have long heard of Ents, the great shepherds of trees in Fangorn Forest, but now I am honored to see one with my own eyes. Greetings, I am Calen, an Elf of Rivendell, and I have come here to Rohan due to news of the Wizard Saruman's betrayal. In my quest to find out more, I have come across these two hobbits." She gestured to the hobbits, who still stood in fearful awe of the great Ent withered and worn by time.

"I am Treebeard, and I am glad to have met you, Calen, Elf of Rivendell. These are hobbits, you say?" The Ent frowned down at the hobbits. "What is a hobbit? I have never heard of them before," said the old shepherd. He bent down slowly and picked the hobbits up, examining them carefully. Humming softly under his breath, he looked them over again and then set them onto the ground. "Hobbits... Perhaps it is time to call the White Wizard for some answers. If he does not know, then no one will know."

Calen jerked her head up, shock clear in her eyes. "The White Wizard is dangerous, Treebeard! Though his betrayal is not certain, I have reason to believe that he has now fallen under the Enemy's spell -"

"Now, now, let us not be hasty, young Elf." When Treebeard turned to them, his eyes were twinkling with amusement. "Who ever said that the White Wizard was Saruman? No, no... Let us not be hasty."

He turned, and from his mouth escaped a great call, and suddenly there was a white light so bright even Calen flinched. The hobbits cried out in surprise as a familiar figure emerged, a genial smile beneath his weathered brow.

"Gandalf!" They cried in delight, and like hurricanes hurled themselves onto him. The Wizard embraced them gently, patting both their backs, before finally loosening himself from their grips and turning to face Treebeard and Calen. "Hello, Treebeard. I see you have found two of my companions, the hobbits Merry and Pippin," said Gandalf.

"So hobbits they are! But what exactly are these creatures?" Treebeard wondered slowly.

"That is for you to find out, my old friend. I shall entrust the task of caring for these mischievous hobbits to you, for time is not on my side and I have many things to do." Gandalf then turned to Calen.

"Mithrandir?" Calen asked aloud in a wonder, her eyes questioning the wizard's presence. Back in the days when she still dwelled in Rivendell, the wizard had visited the Last Homely House several times and now she recognized his face. "What is the meaning of this? Long have I sought you, but you were, it seemed, not keen to be found. Why are you here in Fangorn?"

Gandalf chuckled, his beard wagging merrily at the sudden loosening of her tongue. "This Elf has an unusual inquisitiveness! Well, if you demand an answer from me: I was away on important business in Gondor for a few years, and later on I dropped by Rivendell for a visit and to discuss some matters with the Lord Elrond, after which I travelled to Lorien. I am here in Fangorn to meet some of my companions; they will be arriving later on."

"What a strange place to meet!" The Elf exclaimed, "Still, if your companions have no complaint, then what cause have I to do so? It is with joy that I stand before you here, for I did not expect to see the very person I wished to. I have come not to question you of your whereabouts but to ask you news of the wizard Curunir."

Gandalf's face darkened, and he closed his eyes briefly. His body seemed to suddenly hunch and he was cast in silent shadow, before speaking softly. "Saruman used an object of the enemy without prudence and has now fallen under the enemy's power. Isengard is not to be trusted! Rohan is corrupt from within; one of Saruman's men is working in the royal court to bring the king down."

When he turned to Treebeard, he seemed himself again, a great and venerable Wizard, made wise with age and experience, brimming with knowledge and magic and things as old as the hills. He stood tall in his white robes shimmering like snowdrops on a spring's day and commanded power as a King would. "This, too, is why I am here - I travelled long from Lorien on Gwaihir, my trusty Eagle friend, to speak to Treebeard. Treebeard, my old friend, will you not consider what I have spoken to you about?"

Treebeard shook his head and hummed a baritone tune. "Gandalf, you are the only Istari who cares for trees as well as my dear friend, but I must not be hasty. I am old and have seen much of the world, and must not be quick to take sides."

"Very well. I do not agree with your decision, Treebeard; for Saruman is now corrupted and will very quickly unleash his forces upon Rohan, and the Rohirrim, as courageous as they are, will not be enough to withstand the force of Isengard. But I respect it." The two great beings continued discussing in low tones, and Calen brought the still wide-eyed hobbits aside, casting one last curious glance at Gandalf and Treebeard before turning to Merry and Pippin.

"He's huge!" Pippin exclaimed once Treebeard turned his back.

"Hush, Pippin!" Merry hissed, giving Treebeard a suspicious look. "He might just come over and squash you into a pancake, like the ones you fancy so much for breakfast."

Laughing, Calen said, "Set these worries from your mind! Onodrim are not harmful; they may not know of hobbits but they will be kind to you. You will be fine under their care. Do not let their appearance trouble you, for they are as caring as their hide is thick; they will not trod on you though they are heavy in foot."

Merry and Pippin looked at each other doubtfully, but upon hearing Calen's confident speech they seemed to regard Treebeard with lesser fear and more awe. Soon, they went back to being their usual selves, with Pippin expressing his hunger, almost starvation; and Merry suggesting getting some mushrooms to eat.

"Mushrooms in Fangorn?" scoffed Pippin. "How can there be mushrooms in Fangorn? This place is wild with barely any living things - don't tell Treebeard I said that, though - so how can mushrooms exist here?"

"You might be surprised, little hobbit," Calen said from where she sat on the grass, whittling a stick. "Fangorn is dark and dank and filled with many rotten things, and this aids in the growth of mushrooms. I am sure there are mushrooms, however where they may be found and whether they are safe for eating I am not." She rose and dusted herself off, eyes bright with playfulness in the perpetual dark of the forest. "However I am willing to accompany you to find some."

Merry and Pippin grinned at her. "All right!" they chorused.

"Mmm, mushrooms," Pippin said dreamily.

Calen quickly informed Gandalf of their intention to go wandering and find mushrooms, which the wizard dismissed with a chuckle and a nod, after which the trio of two hobbits and an elf set out.

* * *

There was no wind in Fangorn, the thick shoots and leaves, tangled together in a web of plants, blocked all stir of air. However the stifling atmosphere did not slow the hobbits as they foraged for mushrooms. The Elf, though able to keep up with them, called out several times for them to slow down, for she was afraid that they would run out of sight and become utterly lost.

"I found some!" was Pippin's delighted cry as he spotted a patch of wild mushrooms growing, tucked snugly beneath a rotting log. Merry rushed over, while Calen crouched down and inspected them carefully.

"These mushrooms are safe for eating. However, they are not fresh… Now that I think about it, mushrooms in Fangorn Forest are likely all rotten and not suited for eating. I apologize for giving you false hope." Calen sat down on a dry spot and rummaged through the bag she was carrying. "Here, if you are hungry, have some food. The bread is still fresh – Lady Galadriel gave it to me when I stopped by Lorien. Has Gandalf told you of the Lady?"

"Lembas!" The hobbits exclaimed, reaching for the bread. Calen watched with amusement and mild surprise as they took the bread and ate it heartily.

"We passed through Lorien too; we have seen Lady Galadriel. She is fair beyond belief," Merry said with his mouth full.

"Ah. I suppose you have had lembas before then?" asked Calen, unwrapping a wafer of the sweet-smelling bread and chewing it carefully.

"Yes. It is delicious! Almost as good as the honey cakes Mother makes – and the mushrooms in Farmer Maggot's fields! Would be great washed down with some ale from the Golden Perch or Green Dragon," sighed Pippin wistfully.

"Why did you pass through Lorien?" Calen questioned, popping another bit of bread into her mouth while offering the hobbits more (they had finished their share).

"Oh, because the Fellow –" Pippin began. Merry, his eyes filled with alarm, elbowed Pippin in the ribs sharply and quickly interjected, "Oh, you know, Gandalf likes dropping by Elven sanctuaries. Says they're safe and good for rest."

Calen smiled. "That sounds like Mithrandir. Here, have some drink." She passed them a bottle of clear liquid, and when the hobbits drank, the fragrance was as sweet as peach blossoms, and it was wonderfully refreshing and cleared their minds.

"Elven food and drink is good," Pippin murmured. "I still regret, however, that we did not manage to find any mushrooms. But then again, I told you so, Merry! I said there wouldn't be mushrooms safe for eating in Fangorn –"

"You said there wouldn't be mushrooms in Fangorn, full stop!" Merry argued, gesturing at the patch of mushrooms they had found earlier. "And there are! So you are wrong!'

Calen watched with fond amusement; but soon she grew weary of the hobbits' continuous bickering and bantering, and laid her head against a patch of moss growing on a nearby tree. She sung a few tunes under her breath, her voice soft in the heavy air, and nibbled on more of the Elven bread. Soon she retrieved a battered book and worn pen from her bag along with a bottle of ink, dipped the pen into the dark ink and scratched a few words of flowing Elvish script on the pages of the book.

"What are you writing?" Merry and Pippin popped up behind her and squinted at the script.

"Nothing to speak of." Calen shut the book and turned around to face them. "Do you wish to go back now? Mithrandir will be looking for you."

The hobbits looked shiftily at one another, then started rapidly discussing in hushed tones, most of which the Elf picked up on.

"Do you think we should ask?"

"She'll be angry!"

"But we've never heard an Elf sing alone!"

"Yes, we have! Why don't you ask –" A loud "shh!" from Merry drowned out the word.

Eventually, the hobbits turned and looked at her. "Can you… can you sing for us? We have heard Elvish singing several times, and it is beautiful, and we would… like to hear it again." Merry said sheepishly.

"So that is your request!" laughed Calen. "Elves love singing, they love music of all kinds in fact, and I am not an exception. Very well, I will sing a song of Nimrodel to you."

"Nimrodel! One of our Elven companions, too, sung this song to us when we were in Lorien. It was enchanting. We would love to hear it again," Pippin said happily.

Calen smiled. "What a coincidence! I love the song of Nimrodel as well. I would love to meet your companion." She was silent for a few moments, then opened her mouth to sing, and this was the song the hobbits heard, though she sung in fair speech of Elves:

_An Elven-maid there was of old,  
A shining star by day:  
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,  
Her shoes of silver-grey._

_A star was bound upon her brows,_  
_A light was on her hair_  
_As sun upon the golden boughs_  
_In Lórien the fair._

_Her hair was long, her limbs were white,_  
_And fair she was and free;_  
_And in the wind she went as light_  
_As leaf of linden-tree._

_Beside the falls of Nimrodel,_  
_By_ _water clear and cool,_  
_Her voice as falling silver fell_  
_Into the shining pool._

_Where now she wanders none can tell,_  
_In sunlight or in shade;_  
_For lost of yore was Nimrodel_  
_And in the mountains strayed._

_The elven-ship in haven grey_  
_Beneath the mountain-lee_  
_Awaited her for many a day_  
_Beside the roaring sea._

_A wind by night in Northern lands_  
_Arose, and loud it cried,_  
_And drove the ship from elven-strands_  
_Across the streaming tide._

_When dawn came dim the land was lost,_  
_The mountains sinking grey_  
_Beyond the heaving waves that tossed_  
_Their plumes of blinding spray._

_Amroth beheld the fading shore_  
_Now low beyond the swell,_  
_And cursed the faithless ship that bore_  
_Him far from Nimrodel._

_Of old he was an Elven-king,_  
_A lord of tree and glen,_  
_When golden were the boughs in spring_  
_In fair Lothlórien._

_From helm to sea they saw him leap,_  
_As arrow from the string,_  
_And dive into water deep,_  
_As mew upon the wing._

_The wind was in his flowing hair,_  
_The foam about him shone;_  
_Afar they saw him strong and fair_  
_Go riding like a swan._

_But from the West has come no word,_  
_And on the Hither Shore_  
_No tidings Elven-folk have heard_  
_Of Amroth evermore._

Then Calen stopped, but the last strains of music lingered in the still forest. "The song goes on like the flowing river of fair Nimrodel, but this has always been my favourite part. The song is long and melancholy; and it would weary you if I continued. Let it be enough to know that Amroth and Nimrodel were cursed with an ill-fated love of separation.

"I passed by the River Nimrodel when I travelled to Lorien, and I stood by there for a long time, watching the water rush by me. The waters of time flow by me at a sluggish pace, yet for some, it passes like a summer storm. There are many times when I wonder if the blessing of the Firstborn was instead a curse." Then she shook her head as if awaking from a trance.

"Come now, hobbits, I have fulfilled your wish and sung a song. Let us now return to Mithrandir and Treebeard." Calen rose and led the hobbits back to the place where the two old beings were still speaking.

The hobbits had been heavily subdued since Calen sung of Nimrodel, and were now talking to each other with a careful quietness, so quiet that even the Elf could not hear the words. Their eyes occasionally flickered to her, and their brows were furrowed with concentration and perhaps confusion.

The Elf sat on her own against a bough tree, writing slowly in the old book the hobbits had seen earlier on. Now and then, she ceased her writing and stared up into the leaves where faint rays of sunlight had filtered through, faltering and weak but still bright golden. All was quiet in the forest for a long time, save for the occasional soft whispers and scratching of pen against paper.


	3. Day and Night

**Here's the new chapter, as promised! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Crackling flames sparked and hissed at Aragorn as he fed the fire with more wood. The night was cold; Rohan was hot and dry by the day, resulting in sunburnt lands of withered plants and crops, but by evening, the warmth receded drastically, leaving trails of goosebumps on his skin like dotted stars on a clear night sky.

It was fortunate that they had been able to keep up with the Orcs at all. The beings kept up a steady, monstrously fast pace, driven on by the force of Saruman, and even he, a Dúnedain, was worn from the day's continuous running. He knew Gimli had been silently nursing a broken toe or two, as well as a deep fatigue from the physical exertion. When he asked the Dwarf about it, he had merely waved Aragorn off with a nonchalant, "What are you talking about, lad?" But the Ranger did not miss the deep, hollow tiredness within his sturdy friend.

As for Legolas, the Elf had been a perpetual rock for Aragorn all this time, spurring him on with words of encouragement and his constant willingness to listen to Aragorn's grievances. The Ranger knew that, any time he felt low, he could always count on the Elf to be there, the light of the Eldar chasing away the shadow upon him. Legolas had been tireless all this while, his body lending him more stamina than Aragorn or Gimli's as they went in pursuit of the young hobbits. He had volunteered to keep guard for the second night running; though Aragorn wished dearly to protest, he was wise enough to know that the Elven prince was the only one who could manage this duty as of now.

The orange flames rose higher, warming Aragorn's body, and he found a dry rock to lie on, spreading the cloak Lady Galadriel had given them over the spot and resting his body on the soft, warm fabric. A few yards away from him was the stocky stature of Gimli; the Dwarf had rolled to his side and was now snoring earnestly as he slept. The braids in his beard had gone undone in his slumber, and the red, bushy hair was tangled together in what extremely resembled a mass of brambles. Aragorn chuckled, shaking his head fondly at the sight.

"What are you so amused at?"

Aragorn managed not to jump solely due to the years of experience with his mischievous brothers (who had an exceptional liking of suddenly jumping out and scaring the young Estel), as Legolas emerged from the black night. Light seemed to dance around the Elf's feet as he walked towards the Man, and for a fleeting moment Aragorn likened Legolas to the moon sailing upon the boundaries of the dark universe.

Legolas took a seat beside Aragorn and stared out at the massive plains stretching for miles and miles beyond, seemingly absorbed in the barren scenery of the Mark, before speaking again: "What made you so amused?"

Aragorn could only grunt, startled, as the quiet of the night was disturbed by the soft Elven voice. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, before turning to Legolas. "Eh? Oh, it was because of the sleeping Dwarf." He gestured towards Gimli.

"What of Gimli?"

Aragorn had been pleasantly surprised when, somewhere in the middle of their stay in Lothlórien, Legolas and Gimli had started calling each other by their names, instead of a rough "Elf" or bitter "Dwarf". It encouraged him to know that, even in these times of darkness, people who had been prejudiced against each other since the beginning of time could form bonds of friendship and stand together again.

"Look at his beard," whispered the Ranger, shooting Legolas a sly glance. He knew very well that the Elf loved to mock at the Dwarf's beard; the entire race of Elves, in fact, made fun of the luxurious hair on the chins of Dwarves. "His beard is almost as long as his body," they would laugh.

Legolas turned to look at Gimli, and promptly, a peal of laughter escaped from his lips. Aragorn could only smile goofily at the pure sound of joy from his friend; however, he quickly grew alarmed when Legolas' laughter did not stop, but escalated into chokes, which soon had the Ranger thumping the Elf on the back.

"Choked... For a moment there," Legolas said weakly, once he had regained his composure.

"I can see that," Aragorn commented drily. "It is fortunate Dwarves are deep sleepers. Or else, Gimli would be bearing on you with an axe ready to taste Elven blood in his hand." Legolas smiled at that and said, "Now I see why you were so amused. I wish I could capture the sight of his beard and keep it to torment him for a long while."

Aragorn chuckled, imagining the expression on Gimli's face when he saw the state of his beloved beard. He knew how much beards meant to Dwarves: so much that the only other person who could braid the beard of a Dwarf was the Dwarf's One.

"But you should be getting some rest," Legolas said abruptly, turning serious again. Aragorn often wondered at the way Elves could change their emotions so rapidly: be quiet and solemn one second, and the next, laughing and singing merrily.

"I was about to," answered the Man, "except a certain Elven prince decided to take the task of disturbing me as his own."

Legolas laughed and rose. "I should be getting back to watch," he said. "I have been negligent in my duties."

When Aragorn made an attempt to protest, Legolas said simply, "Have a good night's rest, my friend," in the lilting speech of the Elves, and the Ranger soon fell asleep.

* * *

Calen would have never believed that two beings could stand and talk for so long without moving. Even in Imladris, she had leapt around on trees and ran on the ground, hair flying and limbs always in fluid motion, while singing and talking with her companions. There were of course nights when she sat in her quarters and simply read a book, or wrote a poem, but she was not one to stay at the same spot without getting distracted.

Mithrandir and Treebeard, however, seemed to be the exact opposite. They stood in a clearing not far from the hobbits and her. Occasionally amongst the rustle of leaves and the scuffle of a small animal, she could pick up the low, slow tones of the Ent and the soft, still authoritative voice of the wizard. What were they discussing that needed so much time? Calen yearned to know.

She had deduced that Mithrandir was attempting to get Treebeard to summon the Ents and Huorns to destroy Isengard. Knowing the great shepherd however, he likely would not want to take anyone's side so quickly. She shook her head.

It was late evening, near nightfall, and the hobbits were eating more of the _lembas_ she had packed in her bag. She had expected it; she had encountered several hobbits on her travels to Bree, and they had tremendously great appetites. Merry and Pippin had eaten five of the Elven wafers each, for Manwë's sake.

It was not nearly as cold in the forest as out on the plains, and Calen was grateful. Definitely, even one spark of fire would not be allowed in Fangorn. Wood came from trees, and Treebeard loved the trees. She wrapped a cloak around her and rested, seated comfortably against a tall oak tree she had found.

The hobbits had been asking her for more songs, and she had obliged, singing 'A Elbereth' for them, which, funnily enough, they had also heard before. She wondered what they had been doing that they had met so many of her kin.

They had, in turn, taught her songs from the Shire - 'The Cat and the Moon' had been an upbeat, cheerful and boisterous song, which involved many complicated steps, as the hobbits had explained to her. They had sung it many times in the Green Dragon, an inn in Bywater.

Night fell entirely, blanketing her vision with flitting shadows and stirring darkness before her eyes adjusted and everything came into focus again. Moonlight fell into the grass, illuminating the book she had in her lap. This book was filled with writings and quotes she had found while browsing through libraries in Imladris with Erestor, and later on sayings from encounters with people whom she had met on dusty roads. Some poems and little stories in the book she had written herself. Her father, a Noldo who held great love for lore and wisdom, had given it to her.

She turned to a new page and hesitated, pen poised to write. She was overcome with a sudden feeling of fullness and the thought that things were happening too quickly, too fast for her to know what to do. She had met hobbits where they should not have been, Mithrandir who was the hobbits' companion, and Treebeard, leader of the Onodrim in Fangorn. It was very odd and out of place. All was happening too swiftly for her to keep pace. She tapped her pen against her chin as she thought, then lowered her head to write:

_When dark fingers taint _

_The clear waters of time_

_The moon walks when it should _

_Be sunrise._

She printed these words carefully in Elvish, looked at them, and gently blew on the page to dry the ink. She looked at the peaceful faces of the hobbits as they slept on the dark ground (they had fallen asleep after filling their stomachs) and then took in the dirt and stains of a dark liquid upon their worn outfits.

She knew not what dangers and obstacles Merry and Pippin had faced, but she sensed that had gone through some turmoil, marring their naive innocence. There was a depth to them she had not felt when seeing the hobbits in Bree. It should not be this way. The most innocent, pure ones should not be affected in these ways.

She took a deep breath as Mithrandir and Treebeard walked over, Treebeard easily covering the distance in three steps.

"Calen, Treebeard has matters to attend to. He will be bringing the hobbits along. Why don't you follow me? You might get the knowledge that you thirst for so greatly. And meanwhile, I may inform you of my companions who will be arriving the next day. Yes, I think that is right," Gandalf said.

Her brow furrowed for a moment before she tilted her head in acknowledgement and tucked her book neatly into her bag, moving softly towards the hobbits and rousing them with gentle taps on the shoulder. They jerked awake, eyes wide, and stared up at her blearily before smiling.

"Is it morning already?" Pippin groaned. "It feels as if only a minute has passed."

"It is nightfall, hobbits. Treebeard has to go and you are to go with him," she explained.

"How come we're not following you, Gandalf?" Merry asked.

"You have a great part to play in this war, my dear hobbits. You must follow Treebeard on your own unique path. I have seen it: you will awaken one of the strongest forces in Middle-earth and aid tremendously in our cause."

The hobbits moved towards Treebeard and the Ent bent to pick them up, his gnarled fingers curling loosely around their bodies. They yelped in surprise, and Treebeard said kindly, "You need not fear me. This is the fastest way of traveling."

"Farewell, periannath! Keep safe," Calen called.

"Good-bye Gandalf, good-bye Calen! I am happy to have met one of the Fair Folk again! I hope we meet again," cried the hobbits as Treebeard took a step back. The Ent took one huge step, then another, and after fifteen steps he had disappeared into the thick foliage of the forest.

* * *

Dawn was breaking in hues of amber and clementine when Legolas leapt nimbly over to the rock where Aragorn was sprawled, hair tangled and clothes crumpled from a fitful night. The Elf knelt down and shook his friend awake gently. "Aragorn, wake up." With a groan and a muffled curse, the Ranger tossed to the side, then suddenly shot up, eyes bleary with the shroud of sleep. "What happened?" he asked wildly, eyes asking the same question of the Elf.

"Nothing," answered Legolas simply. "It was a good night; I kept watch but spotted nothing amiss. The Orcs' footsteps stopped sometime in the night: I suppose they stopped for a rest. If we are quick, we might be able to catch up with them."

The Ranger smoothed down his clothes and busied himself with stoking the dying embers of the fire leftover from the previous night. The flames came alive after a good fifteen minutes of patient stoking, in which Legolas sat and ate some lembas.

"Pass me the waterskins, please," Aragorn said as he lifted the small kettle used for boiling hot drinks. They had contemplated leaving it behind, but the hobbits would likely be eager for some tea after undergoing such an ordeal, and so they had chosen the lightest, least bulky one to place in Aragorn's bagpack. He crushed some tea leaves into the water and set the kettle on the fire to boil.

Legolas walked to where Gimli still snored and looked at his friend's sleeping face. "He looks weary," the Elf commented. "Should I let him sleep?"

Much as Aragorn longed to allow Gimli the respite of sleep, he feared the hobbits would be far out of their reach if they did not make haste. "Wake him," he said. "The tea is done."

The sun rose in an arch of crimson, its silhouette prominent against the light sky. Wind stirred briefly and tugged at the strands of Aragorn's hair, then faded away into a stillness that belied the pace the Orcs had been moving at the day before. The cool air settled on Aragorn's skin with a bite, and he secured the cloak of Lórien firmly around his torso.

Gimli and Legolas returned, the former's eyes so puffy with sleep that he looked more tired than the day before. His beard was now reasonably tamed into a bunch of straggly braids, and he immediately reached for a cup of tea, gulping it down and grimacing at the temperature of the liquid as it scalded his throat.

"Aye, that's better," said the Dwarf gruffly when he had finished the cup of tea. He washed the cup in warm water from the waterskins and deposited it back in Aragorn's bag. Legolas perched on a ledge of rock, scanning the horizon for signs of the Uruk-Hai while chewing absently on the Elven bread from Lorien.

After finishing a plain breakfast of lembas and flat tea, the three stood and packed up. Gimli swung his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet to perk himself up, declaring, "Why, I'm always ready to hunt down some Orcs! My axe has grown restless."

Aragorn positioned his ear on the rock to listen for any footsteps of the Orcs while Legolas went ahead to scout for footprints, since he had seen no sign of the Orcs. While waiting for the Elf, the Man and Dwarf sat silently on the rough rock. They would not voice it out, but hope of catching up with the Orcs and finding the hobbits had now faded into almost nothing.

Soon the Elf returned, light and swift on his feet. "We have lost sight of the Orcs, but their tracks still remain. We are fortunate there was no rain last night, for the water would have washed away all remains of the muddy prints."

"Alright, let's go. Legolas, lead the way," Aragorn commanded.

The three of them set off, running freely across the plains. Aragorn burned with the passion and determination to save the hobbits; while Legolas, as always, moved easily across the ground with strong, slender limbs. Gimli, sturdy and hardy, jogged behind the two of them, revitalized by rest and warm food in his belly.

It was pure running for an hour or so, in which Legolas pointed out the faint trails he had discovered and Aragorn continued with the tracking. It was tough to say who was better at tracking - the Elf with his sharp eyes or the Ranger with his skill, but seeing that Aragorn had more experience in the wilds and had been, to a silent consensus, appointed the leader of this trio, he led the way early into the pursuit.

The sun rose fully behind them, illuminating the dry lands with scarlet light. As Aragorn puffed lightly from the exertion of continuous running, Legolas, who was beside him, halted and turned to look at the sun.

"A red sun rises. Blood has been spilt this night," he stated, his eyes flickering with apprehension.

Panic rose like bile in Aragorn's throat, threatening to consume his senses. Bloodshed meant fighting... And fighting meant death. He quickened his pace, his breath shallow. He heard the thumping of the Dwarf's footsteps behind him, unusually swift as driven by fear and concern, and almost mistook the sound for the thrumming of blood in his ears. They ran like this for seven hours, stopping for numerous, short breaks to allow them to catch their breath.

It was early into the afternoon when Legolas stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong?" Aragorn asked, reluctant to pause so frequently. They had just taken a rest. Fresh energy and adrenaline still coursed through his veins.

Legolas tilted his head. "Horses. Do you hear the sound of hooves?"

Aragorn stopped and stood still, listening intently. It was a few seconds before he could ascertain the Elf's words.

"The Rohirrim! Hide; they might kill anyone strangers on sight if we appear abruptly," Aragorn instructed, swiftly ducking behind a large boulder and listening for the horsemen. Legolas quickly directed Gimli behind a rock and then concealed himself behind a similar rock.

The army of Rohirrim, a number as large as five hundred, thundered past them, the men's hair flying out as the horses galloped onwards. Aragorn stood up suddenly and walked in their wake, shouting, "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"

Quickly, the horsemen turned as one at a signal from a marshal, dust flying in flurries as their horses kicked at the ground. They swiftly spread out and surrounded the Man, Elf and Dwarf in one loose circle, before drawing in closer and tightening the gaps and pointing their spears menacingly at them to allow no chance of escape. The marshal, a young man of about thirty, had long, dirty-blond hair which fell around his stern face; Aragorn quickly recognized him as Éomer, nephew to the King and Third Marshal of the Riddermark. A frown on his face, Éomer nudged his horse through the line of men and demanded, "What business does an Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?"

Aragorn glanced at Legolas, and the Elf looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. Gimli, beside Legolas, was eyeing the spears pointed in his face with wariness, apprehension and no small amount of anger. Aragorn searched his mind, seeking words that would satisfy the angry horsemen and yet not give away too much.

"Speak quickly!" Éomer snapped, emphasizing his words with a thrust of his long, sharp spear. They had tarried too long in their answer, and suspicion grew in the hard outlines of the marshal's face.

"Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine," Gimli said indignantly. The distaste for the way the men were treating them was clear in his eyes.

Éomer's eyes hardened and he shifted his spear to the other hand, handing it to the man beside him without taking his eyes off Gimli. He slid off his horse with ease and took one single threatening step towards the Dwarf. Anger was written all over his face. How dare this trespasser demand information of him, in his own lands? How dare a trespasser mock him? Aragorn, looking at the marshal, put a protective hand on the Dwarf's shoulder.

"I would cut off your head, Dwarf," Éomer spat spitefully, "If it stood but a little higher from the ground."

"You would die before your stroke fell!" Legolas drew his bow and fitted an arrow in blur of flesh, the pointed tip of the weapon just about in Éomer's face. His eyes were cold as he stared at the Man, and his lips were curled, contempt for Éomer set in the lines of his mouth. Immediately, several dozen spears were all shifted to the Elf, ready to strike.

Aragorn inwardly groaned. His friends, made wise with experience over the years, were now acting foolishly. Gimli had been himself, a loud boisterous Dwarf quick to anger, but it was unlike Legolas to be made furious so quickly. The Ranger immediately set about diffusing the situation, meeting the eyes of his companions with a message loud and clear: Let him do the talking.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glóin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm," he stated, gesturing to each of them in turn. "We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your King."

"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe," Éomer said bitterly. "Not even his own kin." He took off his helmet, letting his tresses tumble over his shoulders, and signaled to the men around him. The circle of spears, which had been fixed on them this whole time was withdrawn quickly.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we were banished." His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, and he lowered his head, speaking softly. "The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked, and every day his spies slip past our nets." The marshal turned and looked Legolas directly in the eyes, distrust on his face. Only rumors of the sorcerers who lived in Elven havens were heard of the Fair Folk nowadays. Distrust and tension between Men and Elves that had been there since the Battle of the Last Alliance, now flew between Legolas and Éomer.

"We are no spies! We track a band of Uruk-Hai across the plains. They have taken two of our friends captive," Aragorn said diplomatically, not missing every suspicious look Éomer threw at them.

Éomer's brow furrowed. "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."

"But there were two hobbits! Did you see two hobbits?" Gimli burst out, unable to restrain himself anymore. His face was contorted with worry and fear as the marshal considered this question.

"_Holbytlan_..." Éomer murmured to himself.*

"They would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn chimed in helpfully.

Finally Éomer gave one last small, disappointed shake of the head. "We left none alive."

* * *

Calen paced restlessly up and down the forest. Mithrandir had left to attend to some matters, and she was alone in the forest glade, little streams of sunlight penetrating through the crown of green leaves above her head.

Her mind swirled as she thought. Why were the hobbits and Mithrandir here in Fangorn? What business did they have with Treebeard, and who were these companions that Mithrandir were waiting for? Curiosity flared in her. It all seemed rather mysterious to her, and she wanted to find out more.

Mithrandir strode back through the trees, a smile on his face. "Good news! My companions will be arriving soon. Just wait a little while longer."

"Where will you be heading to next?" asked the Elf. "What are you and your companions going to do?"

"We will be going to Edoras, capital of Rohan, to rid King Théoden of the evil spell cast on him." Gandalf turned to Calen and studied her expression, though she quickly wiped it off her face. He saw, however, the longing, almost wistful look on her face and he smiled. "You may accompany us if you wish. A note of caution though, the journey will be long, arduous and dangerous. I myself do not know where this journey will lead us to."

Calen sighed. "I am an Elf, of Sindar and Noldor blood, but I do not wish yet to depart from Arda. This world still holds beauty for me, and I will dwell in it for much time to come, and protect it with my body and soul. Creatures of the dark are rising; how could I let the people of this earth stand alone? I am a wanderer, bound to nothing and no one, and free to travel where I will. I shall join you on your quest."

"Very well. I trust, Elfling that you are not working for Sauron, for I do not know where you have been to in the centuries you have roamed these lands. But at any sign of corruption, I will have to take precautionary measures," Gandalf said solemnly. Calen nodded at his words.

"Look at the time! The sun rises high in the sky, though we may not see it in this dark place. Let us go and meet our companions," Gandalf said. "Gwaihir spotted them approaching from the east. We will have to walk a while in an easterly direction."

It was silent walking for half an hour. Soon the wizard halted.

"Voices!" On his face was a wide smile. "I recognize them. They are my companions!"

Calen swallowed. She would not admit it but inside, she was rather nervous. Though she trusted Gandalf and knew he was good, that might change at the turn of the tide. Additionally, she did not know the nature of these mysterious, nameless and faceless companions of the wizard. She stood behind the tall figure of Gandalf, waiting. Suddenly he whipped around and gestured for her to duck behind a tree.

"They might attack you if they do not recognize you," he explained, gripping his staff.

"But if you are here -"

"Do as I say! Wagging tongues are not needed here now!" He turned and walked out, casting a bright halo of light around his body.

Calen peeked around the tree, but was immediately hit with the light shining from the figure of the wizard. She squinted, straining to see the companions that Gandalf had been talking about for so long. Voices floated towards her ears - a rough, low one; a husky one; and a fair, familiar-sounding voice that made her heart contract with sudden happiness. She hadn't realized how much she had missed her kin.

As she stood there listening to their conversation, she found out that Gandalf had actually battled Durin's Bane and fallen for a period of time before rising again in Lothlórien. That was interesting news. Why did they have to go through Moria? What actually was their quest about?

"Calen! You may come out now," Gandalf called.

She hesitantly took a few steps out, eyes seeking the identities of the voices she had heard. There was a tall, lean man with dark straggly hair, several weeks' worth of stubble on his chin - he had evidently been travelling for very long - and clear grey eyes, keen and sharp. Then beside him was a stout Dwarf with fiery red hair, his beard nearly reaching his knees. His brown eyes were attentive. It was obvious that almost any stray movement there was, he would catch it. The last one Calen saw was a golden-haired Elf. His eyes were a soft blue.

"This is Calen, an Elf I met in Fangorn. She played a part in saving the hobbits from a terrible fate," Gandalf said.

"We are forever indebted to you for saving our friends," the dark-haired Man said, gratitude clear in his voice.

"She will be accompanying us on our journey, at least to Edoras. She is a wanderer of these lands and she seeks to aid us in our cause to rescue this world from the evil of Sauron," Gandalf elaborated.

"All right, Gandalf. Welcome, Calen. I hope you are not tired, because we still have much journeying to do."

Gandalf quickly introduced the three of them: the Man was Aragorn, the Dwarf Gimli, and the Elf Legolas. Upon hearing the Elf's name, Calen started. "Is that not the name of the Prince of Mirkwood?" She slipped unconsciously into Sindarin.

Gimli's expression abruptly changed into that of a sulk, and he muttered under his breath about "speaking what everyone can understand".

Legolas had a resigned look on his face. "Indeed. I am the son of Thranduil, the great Elvenking of Greenwood the Great, or Mirkwood as it is called these days. I would prefer to be just called Legolas, please."

"I see. Well, I am joyful to see one of the Elves of Mirkwood. I hail from Rivendell and have been to Lórien, but never to Mirkwood," Calen said in the flowing Elven speech.

"Shall we be setting off now? The hour grows late; I do not know when you - we - have to reach Edoras, but it seems you are in great hurry," Calen said in Westron, looking at the rest of them.

There was a rather prominent sense of detachment from the rest of them, and she felt... awkward.

"Calen is right! We must hasten to Edoras and swiftly free Rohan of Saruman's dark hold. The King of Rohan, Théoden, is the key to this. With every day that passes Saruman's power grows. We must reach Edoras as soon as we can."

They had been journeying through the forest for an hour. Calen idly listened to the murmur of voices as Aragorn and Gandalf talked. Gimli occasionally chipped in with a few gruff, opinionated words, but Legolas was generally silent, walking quietly on the mossy ground with the grace of a panther.

"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn," Gandalf was saying. "A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

The hobbits' names caught Calen's attention for a moment before she subsided and retreated back into her own world. Her fingers itched to grip a pen and compose or write, to create worlds crafted of words that were as beautiful as this one she loved.

They eventually came out onto a grassy plain that stretched for miles, wind suddenly whipping at their hair. Calen tucked her hair behind her ears and surveyed the lands. Gandalf announced a little break. "Rest for a while, we will be riding away the rest of the day."

Calen sat down a little further from the rest of the company, removing her bag from her shoulder and searching through it. But soon her searching grew more and more anxious, and fear grew on her face. Finally she sat back on her heels and sighed softly.

"What are you looking for?" Calen glanced up to see Legolas standing over her, his face flickering with concern. The afternoon sunlight danced across his fair hair.

She hesitated. "It's nothing... "

He rooted through his own bag and retrieved from within the depths a small book with a velvet blue cover, the exact shade of the sky in early twilight. The pages were yellowish, worn with age and hands that had smoothed the paper over and over again. Upon seeing it, Calen gave a cry of surprised happiness and reached for it.

"Is this yours? I saw it lying on the ground when you all had gone ahead, and I thought perhaps someone had dropped it... I didn't bother to look through it, though, because I had to hurry to catch up with you. I was planning to hand it to Mithrandir for a look through it later. But since it's yours..." Legolas said.

"Yes, it's mine. _Hannon le_." Legolas' fingers brushed against hers as she took the book and hugged it to her chest protectively. Upon seeing Legolas' curious look, she said, "My father gave it to me. I write poems and stories in it."

"Oh. I see."

Having said their fill, Legolas turned away from Calen and no further words passed between them for the rest of the break.

* * *

*'Hobbits' in Rohirric.


End file.
